


What You Do For Love

by infectedscrew



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Bruce pulls a dirty trick, Clark is oblivious, M/M, Undercover, semi-cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6795238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infectedscrew/pseuds/infectedscrew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark receives an incriminating note and he has to make a choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Do For Love

Clark lowered the paper slowly. He looked around the dingy bar. He didn’t need x-ray vision to know that more than one person was packing a gun in this place. And that included the tiny, plump waitress moving around the table. Folding the paper, he moved to sit at the bar.

This wasn’t exactly where he wanted to find himself on a Friday night; his Date Night. For one thing he was sure that none of the glasses had been cleaned since the seventies. Speaking of glasses, he lifted his pair off of his nose and cleaned them nervously.

If it weren’t for that stupid note he wouldn’t be here at all.

He sighed softly.

“What’ll it be?”

He looked up at the gruff voice. A thick, pock marked face appeared before his vision. It took serious effort for him to not jump back and fly off.

“Rum and coke,” he asked, a little awkwardly. That’s what Bruce always ordered and while he wasn’t much for drinking he figured he should get something.

Not that he’d be drinking out of whatever he was served.

His hand crinkled around the note.

‘I know your secret, Superman. – Matches’

Clark shook his head. There was no way this 'Matches’ knew who he was. After Bruce’s advice, his identity had become infallible.

Just as his drink was set before him, a strong hand dropped on his shoulder. Fearing the worst, Clark looked up. For a very brief moment, he was sure that he was looking up at Bruce in the tackiest suit in existence and a mustache. One blink later and it was just a man in a tacky suit and a mustache. Bruce would never go out looking that… unfashionable.

“I see you got my note,” the man said, voice thick with an accent Clark couldn’t place.

Clark swallowed and nodded.

“Come with me.”

Matches grabbed Clark’s drink. With a squeeze to the Superman’s shoulder, he turned off. Clark barely had enough time to get off of his seat and scramble after the man. Briefly he was sure that he caught Bruce's familiar scent but that couldn't be possible. Bruce wouldn't be caught dead in a bar like this, unless it was for undercover work.

He was guided to an impossibly dingy room with one bare light bulb and a desk. If this was meant to make him nervous, it was working.

“I didn’t think ya’d come,” Matches stated, moving around in front of him.

Clark nodded, trying to puzzle out why Matches was so familiar. “You said you knew something?”

Matches chuckled. He lifted his hand around Clark’s immaculate tie. With a sharp tug, he crushed their mouths together.

Clark flailed, shoving the man back. His thoughts were utterly derailed. “What was that?”

Matches barely stumbled, catching himself. He was smirking and it wasn’t friendly at all. “I know exactly who you spend your date nights with.”

Well, that hadn’t been what Clark was expecting. His eyes widened and his throat worked around vague sounds. “S-sure, I’m at work.”

Matches laughed. “Hardly. Tell me, how is Brucie?”

Clark blanched. “What do you want?” He asked, voice going serious.

“Nothing much. Just a night with the man who tied Bruce Wayne down.”

There was a pause as Clark stared at him, considering. “That’s it… You don’t know anything else?”

Matches’ eyebrows lifted curiously. “Is there something else I should know?”

Clark shook his head quickly. “No, not at all.”

“Then…” Matches gripped the front of his blazer, grip solid and unbreakable. “Show me how you got Bruce Wayne. Or I will tell the Daily Planet what one of its most interesting writers does with his weekends.”

Clark’s head hurt a little. He knew that Bruce would hate it if the rest of the world knew about them. But he also knew that he’d hate it more if Clark spent the night with someone else.

“I… Can’t,” he finally stated.

Matches sighed and yanked a phone out of his horrid suit, mismatched suit. “Well, one call away.”

Clark lifted his hands. “Wait! Don’t. Just… Just for tonight, right?” This was for Bruce, he decided. For the man’s ridiculous reputation.

Matches nodded. “Right.”

Clark swallowed once, twice, three times. “Okay.”

He tried not to shove the man back when their mouths connected a second time.

-/-

The following morning found him on a stained couch, waking up to a smirking face. A face he very much recognized.

“Bruce!” He sat up, skin dragging on unforgiving fabric.

Bruce arched a regal eyebrow at him. “I would have thought you’d put up more of a fight,” he said smoothly.

That’s when Clark realized that Bruce was wearing the ugly suit pants and holding a fake prosthetic nose. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“You!”

Bruce bowed his head once. “Me.”

Clark hurled a couch cushion at his head. “I thought Matches was–”

Just what Superman thought of Matches Malone would never be known, for the last son of Krypton was thoroughly distracted by a very rare, very small smile on Bruce Wayne’s face.


End file.
